May 1st, 2119
by Endova Elixabete
Summary: It's May 1st in the year 2119 and World War III has broken through. Things seem to be all right for General Berwald Oxenstierna, but he can't say the same about the men he's working with. Tino is ill and wounded, Mathias is missing a finger, Lukas lost an arm and an eye, and Emil has a terrible infection. Berwald can only hope things turn out well in the end.


_**I do have to do a bit of a warning for character death. If you're not comfortable with it, please turn away**_

_Translations are located at the bottom._

* * *

May 1st, 2119

Things haven't been getting any better around here.

Tino's cough hasn't improved at all. Jumping into that frozen lake may not have been the best idea for him, but at least he dodged all of those bullets. One of the bastards got his shoulder though. We pulled out the pellet with a pair of tweezers that Emil had stored in his bag. Luckily it hadn't gotten too deep into his shoulder and was easy to pull out. Tino's sick, and it's only getting worse, but he's putting on a happy air about him. He's trying to stay strong for his troops. I don't blame him. Being the head of the Finnish army is rough. He has a reputation to make, and a bigger one to hold. He won't let the Russians beat him. He'll stand strong, just like the Finnish army had done all those years ago. In the Winter War. Tino loves history, he's taught me quite a bit about it. The more I see him talk, the more and more I seem to fall for him. I'll continue to hide that from him though. Let him believe it's a joke. I don't care. It puts a smile on his face, and that's all that matters. This is war, and any bit of happiness you can find, take it. Take it and keep it locked up.

We had to cut off Mathias' right ring finger yesterday. He'd gotten frostbite in it. He tried to play it off as if it was nothing, but he was worried. We all knew. He screamed like a little girl when I held the knife up to his hand. I told him to stop or I might miss and cut off his whole hand. He quickly got over it and clung to Lukas for his dear life. At least he's healthy now though. I mean, it was just a finger. He'll live fine without it. After it was over, he laughed as I was bandaging everything. He turned to his troops and gave them a thumb up. As long as he can write a note or pull a trigger, he said he'd be fine. I believed him on that. Then, he tried to humor everyone saying that as long as he could still style his hair he'd make it out happy. Just wait until we have to tell him that we're on his last bottle of gel. He'll flip. I'll undoubtedly have to be the one to tell him, but maybe I can get Lukas to do it. He usually calms the Dane down. God, I hate the Danes. They're annoying as hell, as Lukas says. He's right on that.

Though, when all was said and done Mathias took one more look to Lukas and a frown spread back onto his face. No matter what, his finger was nothing compared to Lukas. In the battle the other day, Lukas was next to an explosion. He'd lost a few of his men, along with some parts of himself. His right arm flew right off and he'd gotten some scrap in his eye. We bandaged him up as best as we could with what we had. He'll be fine, but he can't write anymore—let alone see through his right eye. He can always learn to do things with his left hand. He can't take care of any wounds though on his own anymore. At least, not until he gets used to things. He's been back and forth with reality and a lie through the pain medicine we gave him. He refuses to sleep anymore because of the nightmares. He's definitely feeling the effects of war the most. His men are afraid for him, but they're standing strong on their own. That's the Norwegian army for you.

Emil's condition is definitely not helping Lukas at all. Though they're just half brothers, Lukas took the boy and treats him like a full-blooded brother should. Emil's been bedridden since that spill back a few weeks ago. We stitched up the wound, really well when it first happened, but he'd lost a lot of blood beforehand. It was difficult just to get him out of that ditch, but we got to it. I saw the man who was going to shoot at him. I saw him with my own eyes. But I couldn't pull the trigger fast enough. I'd beat myself up if Emil had died right there. No matter, he's in bed now trying to rest for a little while. Until he's better. A few nights ago he'd sprung up a fever. We're afraid it's some sort of infection. Lukas is worried like mad, but I'm sure he'll be all right. He's sitting up and eating well enough at least, even though the fever is just getting worse. It'll calm in a few days, I'm sure. It's just a cold—or at least I'll tell myself that. Along with everyone else. His men will be all right. Emil can still give them orders.

And me? Well, my back hurts. And I'm pretty sure my knee can't last much longer without a bandage around it. Something to keep it from putting too much pressure on it. But in the end I have nothing to complain about. I'm fine. Better than the other generals here. And though my men are shaken, they'll pull through. They're tough. They're strong. They're my men, and not one of them will back down without a fight. I've been training almost all of them for a whole year now, and I've come to know each and every one of them. I know their life stories—each and every one of them. Even the men with my fellow generals. And they too. Never in my life did I think I'd grow this close to so many people, and in such a short time. I love each and every one of them. In different ways, of course. But I do love them. They've become more than acquaintances. More than friends. They've become family. Even the dumbass Dane. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Just the feeling of seeing them each day makes me-

"General Oxenstierna!"

General Berwald Oxenstierna looked up from his notebook that he was hunched over, trying to write while leaning on his leg to see the soldier standing in the doorway. He looked panicked, his eyes wide and chest heaving from heavy breaths. He was obviously Icelandic—one of Emil's men. Berwald knew it the moment he laid eyes upon the soldier.

"What's wrong, soldier?" Berwald asked, his interest then peaked. He placed his journal and his pen off to the side, his foot returning to the ground as he stood.

"Come quick! It's General Steilsson!" The soldier motioned for Berwald to follow him. "Please! You have to hurry!"

Only when Berwald stepped out of his tent did he realize that a few people were screaming. There were men running back and forth, moving quickly to Emil's tent and to the fire, gathering water and other necessities. A few men emerged from their tents, obviously as confused as the frontrunner Swede was.

"General, with all due respect, hurry!" The soldier grabbed onto Berwald's arm, practically dragging him through the shallow snow to the Icelander's tent. Berwald was usually a very sturdy man. Nothing could knock him off his feet. But in the state of confusion he didn't know what to think. He was confused, his feet no longer carrying themselves as they usually did.

He tripped as he was brought closer to the tent, his heart racing as if he was in the midst of battle. People were running and screaming, dodging himself and the male hauling him. A familiar yelling sounded out. It was horrified, the man's voice showing that he was clinging to something that was no longer there. Berwald's heart nearly dropped.

He braced for impact, his feet finally finding their balance as he ran, pulling away from the man. He knew exactly what was going on. There was so much panic, so much horror. Broken words, a mix of English and Norwegian filled the air. Heart wrenching words and yelling came from a nearly broken man, the war finally taking all that it could from someone.

Emil was dying. Berwald knew it.

He rushed into the tent, pushing the flaps to the side as he glanced around, his gaze falling upon the bed, the heap under the blankets sure to be the Icelander.

"Emil! Emil, please don't! Vennligst åpne øynene! Se på meg! Si noe til storebroren din!" Lukas was hunching over Emil, his hand running through the silvery locks of hair. "Please… Vær så snill, jeg ber deg."

Tears streamed down Lukas' face, the Norwegian seeming to be completely unable to hide his feelings anymore. His stoic façade was shattered. This was it. Lukas was broken. He was done, completely gone. The one thing he cared for most in the world had been ripped from him, right before his eyes.

"Lukas, come here! You have to get away so they can help!" Mathias grabbed Lukas around the waist, doing his best to pull the other away. "They're going to try and bring him back!"

"No! Let go of me! Let me see him! I want my brother!" Lukas thrashed, trying to pull away from the Dane, but it was useless. Mathias had locked his arms tightly, holding the weaker Norwegian tightly and away from his brother. It wouldn't do him any good to get hurt with what was coming next.

Berwald spotted Tino, the Finnish male reaching for a defibrillator and bringing it to the Icelander. Berwald suddenly sprung into action.

He turned to the man nearest him, a Danish soldier, and ordered him to grab cloth and warm water. If Emil were to be revived, he would need help right away.

The Swede ran to the bed, his fingers gripping to Emil's shirt tightly before pulling apart, buttons flying and fabric tearing. There was no way the clothes could help now. Only when the paddle touched skin would they help, and Berwald was damn sure a piece of clothing was nothing compared to a human life.

"Move back!" Tino nearly yelled, the paddles pressing to each other as he rubbed them together. Berwald listened, moving away as Tino brought the paddles down, pressing them to Emil's chest.

Emil's body jolted, a thud sounding out as it landed back onto the stiff bed. Berwald rushed to his side again, the Swede's large fingers pressing to the side of the boy's neck, feeling for a pulse.

They waited. Nothing. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

"Emil!" Lukas cried, his hand reaching out, the yearn of holding his brother again taking over.

"Move!" Berwald barely had time to move again before Tino brought back the paddles, pressing them to Emil's bare chest once more. There was determination in the Fin's eyes, a sort that the Swede had never seen before. Tino wasn't willing to just let Emil go. No, he wanted the boy alive just as much as Lukas did.

Tino was loving, and he was caring. Berwald knew that for a fact.

He leapt forward again, his fingers pressing to the Icelander as he waited, praying that the boy wasn't too far gone. Nothing. Again there was nothing.

"Again!" Tino tried yet again, the paddles seeming to hone in on the correct spots to try and bring the other back.

Check, fingers to his neck. Berwald shook his head, his face becoming grave.

"O-once more!"

"Tino, no. It's no use." Berwald spoke up. He lowered his hands, his gaze slowly falling on the Finnish male.

Tehre were tears in Tino's eyes. Berwald felt his heart break as he watched the other, his small shoulders shuddering as he held back his sobs. Tino was always so strong. Berwald admired him for that. But maybe it was about time he let the Fin break down. Emil meant a lot to the other male.

Berwald reached out, pulling the shorter male into a soft hug, pressing his head into the Swede's shoulder. "Go ahead. Let it out."

From behind himself Berwald could hear the chocking sobs coming from the Norwegian. He knew that Mathias was most likely comforting him, holding him as soft whispers of encouragement as he took care of his beloved.

"Emil, kan du ikke gjøre dette mot meg. Jeg elsker deg. Ikke la meg. Ikke la oss ... Vennligst ..." Lukas was choking out words, his voice becoming more garbled and weak as each one passed his lips. "Ikke gå til den store hallen uten meg ..."

With each word crossing Lukas' jaws, Tino seemed to deteriorate a bit more. His knees bent as Berwald held onto his small frame, arms locked around tiny Finnish shoulders. Though not a sound was heard from the Fin, Berwald could feel him shake. Tino was crying.

The machine dropped from his hands, clanking to the ground loudly before his small hands made their way to the Swede's coat, tugging it strongly.

"H-he's gone, Berwald… Little Emil is gone…" Tino's voice was high-pitched, small sniffle noises sounding from the fabric of the heavy wool jacket.

"Ja. He's gone…" Though Berwald's voice wasn't muffled, he kept it low. He only wanted Tino to hear these words. He needed them.

The Swede could hear a dull thud from behind him, Lukas' sobsseeming to muffle as the movement of clothing was heard. He ran a hand gently through Tino's hair, turning slightly to look at the other two.

Lukas sat on the floor in a heap, Mathias' coat hanging off of his shoulders as the Dane clung tightly to him from behind. His mouth was covered, Mathias' dominant hand pressing over it gently.

Upon seeing the Swede, Mathias looked to him. He offered a small, sad smile as his heavy brows knit upwards. He bit his lip for a moment, looking down at Lukas before returning his eyes to Berwald. His smile had completely disappeared now as he sighed.

"I'm sorry." He apologized before going back to comforting Lukas. "I guess it was the infection…"

* * *

~Vennligst åpne øynene! Se på meg! Si noe til storebroren din! - Please open your eyes! Look at me! Say something to your big brother!

~Vær så snill, jeg ber deg. – Please, I'm begging you.

~Emil, kan du ikke gjøre dette mot meg. Jeg elsker deg. Ikke la meg. Ikke la oss ... Vennligst ... - Emil, please don't do this to me. I love you. Don't leave me. Don't leave us... Please...

~Ikke gå til den store hallen uten meg ... - Don't go to the great hall without me...

/A/N/

Hello! It's me again with a sad story about a fictional World War III. I hope this is all right.

I know it's short, but it was a small project I've been working on. I'm trying to fix up my writing a bit ^^


End file.
